Milost
2009
Split
I’m right behind you. I turn and see him clambering up the verge behind me. I was going to scare you. Oh really? Like when you tried to convince me your uncle got an exorcism. I wasn’t joking about that! I hang up, put my phone in the pocket of my shorts and hug him. I know he’s six nine but he still feels taller when I try to hug him, or when random drunk women repeatedly tell him how tall he is.
He pats me on the shoulder. Found somewhere for us to live yet? No, I've been mainly getting the rest of the design work done so we can look together. I’ve spent all of my breaks with an octogenarian in the old town, she’s mainly been trying to ask me why I’m not leaving the apartment much. She saw me using a coke can as an ashtray. She gave me a glass turtle to use as one. I’m not sure now if she intended for me to take it but I left her a decent bottle of Posip. We started to talk with google translate by the end.
What did you say to Chelsea about moving here? I dumped her. What? Yeah, I just looked at the steady jobs we both had. The mortgage and everything worked out until we died and couldn’t get out quick enough. I want to get a studio going out here, and organize festivals like Outlook. I wasn’t going to say anything but I was always surprised you were with her. But, uh, that plan sounds perfect. I could do my design work around that. I want to get my drawing to a professional level. My shading still looks like it's done by a serial killer. By the time I’m thirty I want to be living off making art full time, making art from materials of the places I visit. Maybe do the graphic design for your projects. Yeah, this is what I want, where’s the flat? I’ve got one by the beach. Is there sand? No, it's Croatia, there isn’t any sand but the old town and the parks are jewels. Right, let's get the hire car.
We walk out of the carpark, over the road to a bright green kiosk. The lad behind the desk is in an orange shirt with oil over the front and baggy shorts tied with a cord. Hi, we’re here to pick up our car and sort out the insurance. Certainly, Sir. What will you be choosing for your package? He takes out a price sheet from his desk and turns it over to us on the counter. This one, you will be able to break the car up to ten thousand kuna. He points to the lowest number on the page. This one you can drive it into the sea and leave it there. We’ll take that one. Sign here. Anton signs and I pay. He hands us the keys with a smile.
We drive out of the airport and notice old sandy concrete walls with bullet holes covering them. That must be the army base, an old boy from the pub helped secure that in the nineties. He told me to try the Pelinkovac.
We drive along the coast with the sloping mountains on our right and the sea on our left. The view of both is mostly obscured by sheet metal protecting the sides of the motorway. I point at the old monastery on top of a rock hundreds of metres tall with a sheer drop on every side.
I look Anton in the eye. I keep hearing about this obit-elg or something. It means the family. I keep asking about it but everyone that hasn’t brought it up themselves either tells me to shush or walks away. I haven’t found anything else odd about the place. Oh, bubbles of sulphur come out of the ocean. When the wind is going in just the right way, the entire swanky cocktail beachfront smells of eggy farts. We leave the motorway and drive past large patches of allotments and small houses with tall fences. The sea is far below us. We must be able to get down somehow. The only way is forward or over that cliff.
I light a cigarette and hang it out of the window of the car, my hand burns on the black metal. Get out your phone. I’ve forgotten the way from here. This might not have been the right turning. An elderly couple in wide brimmed hats step into the gate of a garden to let us pass. We wave to them. They nod and the woman raises her hand. The map says we need to take the next right, it should be after this ridge. The fantasy of seeing my grandfather as a rally navigator in the Yorkshire dales flashes in my mind.
A waft of sunscreen brings me back. The sudden drop and snaking bend down the mountain make me grip the seat. Anton seems utterly unaware how close we are to dying as we coast down to the sloping apartment block by the beach. What are they doing on the beach? Anton scans the shore. Maybe they’re putting sand in. It could be a festival. I shake my head and tut. Seems weeks away considering the amount they have set up, we’ll be on one of the islands by then.
We park and notice a man in a worn business suit waiting in the shade outside the front of the apartments. I wave to him, he smiles and walks to us. Simon? Yes, is it Tomislav? Anton extends his hand. Dobro dan. Tomislav’s eyebrows jolt upwards. It’s dobar dan but I’ll have to get you a drink for that, nobody ever learns Croatian when they come here. I’ll take you up. It's on the second floor. We get upstairs, the dining room is full of red and white checkered drapes, table cloths and pillows. Every chair and cabinet is made with intricately carved wood with floral flourishes. A retro rotary phone sits on the cabinet with a bowl of mints by the door. I’d like to recommend a restaurant my friend runs. Nostromo. It’s right outside the fish market. The seabass tastes like butter even though all they use is a bit of olive oil and salt over a proper grill. I look at Anton. I think we know where we’re having dinner tomorrow. Nostromo makes me think of the ship in Alien but I won’t raise it. We’re looking for somewhere to rent if you know anywhere going. Tomislav sighs. Most of the places on the coast will only rent for the winter because they can charge much more for them in the summer. Ah right, that might be a problem. Is there anything else you want to know about? No, that's everything, thank you. Oh, hold on. Do you know anything about the family? Tomislav's smile drops. He glances at the door. We don’t discuss the family out in public. Anton creases his eyebrows. But we’re not in public. Tomislav puts his finger to his lips and points to the phone. He hands over the keys. Post these through the letterbox when you check out. If you get in trouble with the police, give me a call. I used to be a mayor of the town here.
We lock up the flat and head to the shop underneath us. Anton turns to me while he’s walking down the stairs. What the fuck was that about? I shake my head. I don’t know. We open the shop door. A digital bell rings above us. I grab a bottle of what looks like white wine, none of the words are legible in the swirly writing. Anton finds a keg of blond beer. We carry them upstairs. I sit on the balcony, look at the Adriatic Sea and light a cig. Anton lifts the keg onto the table and starts to fiddle with the tap like he’s trying to break into a safe.
I squint looking at him. Are you worried? He shakes his head, not looking at me. No, I’ve always had this strange feeling when I’m around you that everything will be okay. My brow lifts. I don’t think anyone has made me feel like that. Anton looks up songs on his phone. I finish a glass of wine. He still hasn’t picked. Come on, let's head into town. It's getting dark. I don't imagine the nights start at midnight here, especially out of season. Anton smirks. It will be just like everywhere else, we’ll hear a smoking area and orbit the flashing lights. Hah! Pretty much.
Old Town
We leave the apartment and walk along the path by the coast. Holiday homes become small apartments, and then Roman walls and paved floors. This is the start of the old town. I spotted a bar I wanted to go into somewhere in the walls of the buildings along here. Anton scrunches his face. There’s a bar in that? Yeah I heard Love Shack and saw pink flashes so it could be a gay bar. Anton laughs. I doubt there’s a gay bar in Split but okay. We go down into the tunnels and up stairs, the arched doors look nearly as old as the stone. Anton says something behind me. Pardon? What's making you want to give up design? I’m not really giving it up but it's always been the earner when I really want to make art. I couldn’t get out of town for how much it's been earning me so far, let alone the country. I met this kid on holiday who was an illustrator. Far better than anything I could do. I nearly recommended him to get into graphic design then it dawned on me that he didn’t need an alternative.
We walk down the stairs and hear a subwoofer. We must be close. A courtyard opens up to our left in the corner of the Roman walls. Five upturned whisky barrels are dotted around with candles on. An open door lit in red is on the other side. We walk in, even I have to dip my head to get through the inner porch. A small bar spans half of the room. Green bottles fill the shelves behind a small young lady with half of her head shaved.
What can I get for you? A beer and a white wine please. Do you happen to know anywhere going for rentals that could have us through the summer? I might have something. My friend is looking to rent out his student flat after he dropped out. He has it for the next two years. I'll make the drinks and give him a call. Thank you so much. I turn to Anton. It never fails, if you want information in a new city ask the bartenders or taxi drivers.
The bartender slides both of the drinks down the bar to us. My wine sloshes onto the cuff of my shirt leaving a mark tinted green. She leans under the bar and unplugs her phone. Her earrings are two block ouija boards. They jingle as she brings her head back up. She raises one finger and walks into the room behind her. We can hear her talking but can't make out the words.
I finish my wine and she comes back in. I think she's been crying. What's wrong? Sorry there's no way to talk to him. Is he missing? No, that was him on the phone. He’s convinced he has got a medical degree and he won't stop trying to arrange a party to celebrate. I wish I could talk to his clean head for a few minutes. I think his parents won't talk to him after he dropped out. Now he's nearly on the streets in Zagreb. We have a few friends up there to look after him but he won't sign over the apartment because he thinks he’s going back to do a masters. She sighs through her nose. Her shoulders lower and she closes the grip on her phone. He was always a little… different. When we were in school together he stole a penguin from the zoo and got it all the way into his parents' bath before anyone found him. She walks into the other room and doesn’t come back out.
Anton grinds his pint into the bar, it slips on the wine. We shouldn’t be going out too much. It’s going to take longer than we thought to find a place. I can’t go back. I watch him staring at the bubbles rising in his glass. There’s nothing back there for me either. I can’t let Amsterdam be my glory days and I ended up just talking about it for the rest of my life. I’ve seen that, it freaks people out. I struggle to catch my breath but it doesn’t feel like it's actually connected to my body. Am I scared? No, this has always been here, it's the thrill of being on the road. That's what it's all about.
Anton goes quiet. I pat him on the back. Look, this is only the first place we’ve tried. We can ask around tomorrow and if nothing comes up then set off for the islands early. Let’s go back and drink what we have there. I promise you we will get something sorted and we won’t spend a penny we don’t have to until that happens.
Bol
I wake up in a double bed with white sheets. Agh, what the… Anton calls up from downstairs. How’s your head? It hurts. I wipe my brow and run my fingers through my hair. There’s nothing there. What?... Anton starts laughing. I look at my hand and see hairs all over it.
Anton comes up the stairs stirring a bowl of something eggy in a pan. You got me to shave your head last night, kept saying something about not wanting to look like you’re holding onto something you don’t have anymore. It was pretty hard to do as you wouldn't keep your head still. I told you that you would regret it but I think you look quite good. I kept thinking I cut you but it turns out you have a birthmark on the back of your head.
I run into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I try to wipe off the last few hundred hairs from the slimy layer of sweat on my head. I’m glad I grew a beard now. Damn I look really ill. What are they going to say when we are looking around at flats? Why could I not have at least hit the gym a bit, I look nearly skeletal. Stomach bile shoots to the back of my throat. I’m thirsty but if I drink even a bit of water I’m going to throw up.
I hear Anton walk back downstairs chuckling. I get in the shower and wash off the rest of my hair. The shower is free! Anton? I already had one this morning, walked right past while you were conked out. Let’s go get a ferry. We get in the car and Anton puts on some Croatian dance track with a synthesised sitar being played backwards. We drive to the port and park up next to the main strip. You would never know it’s winter by the heat. There’s meant to be a storm tonight. I hope it’s one of the ones we got from Outlook that seems like a zeppelin and flashes are coming from different parts of it from the inside. I run to the black kiosk, pay for the ferry ticket and get back in the car. I place the ticket in the corner of the windscreen. Right, do you think you can smoke in here? Anton tips his head left and right. I’ve yet to find somewhere in Croatia you can’t. He is. He points to an old man standing next to the back ramp of the ferry. Oh I do love this country. I spark a cig as Anton parks.
The light in the car park inside of the ferry goes dark as the ramp closes. A few dots of emergency lighting appear and disappear on the ceiling as we walk between lorries and family sedans from the eighties. A man in his forties with an unkempt beard points at Anton’s football top. Manchester Manchester! I had a red rover, I had a red rover! I nudge Anton. I didn’t know that was a chant. He shakes his head. It isn’t. We smile and wave at him as he ascends the stairs to the viewing platform. We follow him and take a left as he turns right. Split starts to push away from us. The green islands in the clear water nearly touch the boat. Blocks of old fortifications come out of the foggy navy blue beneath us. The stone blocks appear to end rather than disappear like whales sleeping facing upwards. Anton is chatting to a guy about our age. Hey Simon, have you ever heard of this? Errm, I dunno, is that a joint? Hi, there. I fist bump the guy. This is something they grow in Brac. It's like DMT but it lasts as long as acid. No, I’ve never heard of anything like it. Shall we get it? Err, how much? Eight Kuna, that’s like a quid. Okay why not.
God’s Love and the Asylum
My eyes open. This room looks like a hospital except for a peachy orange tint to the walls. I must be in Croatia, even the shadows are orange. The shadows are only purple in England. I move my arms and can’t move them from my sides. I’m strapped to the hand rails with padded cuffs. There’s another bed in the room under a tall barred window. An old man is sleeping in the bed next to me. He’s more skeletal than any human body I’ve ever seen. His eyes are closed like they will never open again. A thick layer of tobacco smoke hangs in the air. The smell hits the back of my throat. This must be one of the sleep paralysis dreams again because I can’t move my body. If I fall asleep I’ll wake up at home or in a mates student dorm. I close my eyes to sleep. I wake up and I’m still in the same room. The old man has gone. Sunlight is coming through the bars in the windows. My cuffs are gone. The last thing I remember is coming into Brac. I’m certain I said we were just going to have a few beers that night. I must be one of those boozed up Brits abroad. Does Anton know where I am? Wait, I don't know where I am, I’m sure I’m still in Croatia. I look down at the pair of shorts and boxers I have on. No socks or shoes. My legs and feet are covered in sandy mud. Where is all my stuff?
I stumble out into the hallway and look to my right. Double metal doors stand with two window holes, clouded glass and cross wires cover where the glass should be. I wonder why they bothered making a window hole at all. I look left and hear people talking. I stumble down the hall and take the left at the end and see two men smoking by the window. They must be nurses. They are sitting on fold out chairs passing an ashtray to one another. One is a large guy, clearly as tall as Anton if not taller but with big arms and a chunky head. The smaller man has a sloping barrel for a torso, short legs and shoulders that seem to connect directly with his cheekbones. Hi there. They both look up. The larger one looks to the smaller one. Hello… English? Ah, yes. Where am I? The smaller one laughs. Aaah, you in crazy ‘ospital. We both laugh. The larger one looks confused. My laughter falls into a whimper and I start to crumple on the floor.
They both lunge to pick me up. Each with one arm they lower me onto a fold out chair. I stare into the courtyard with a single birch over rocks. My vision blurs and flickers. How did I get here? The smaller one holds up his palms. How would we know? Aren’t you nurses? He laughs. No I’m an alcoholic. And he is a… The larger one hands me a fat cone of a rollup. He is a schizophrenic, I think it's called. He’s a good man but ah, he gets the voices. He doesn't speak English. I nod to the larger man in thanks for the cig. When do the nurses come around? At nine. What time is it now? Six. What if I can’t get out in time for our Airbnb? I bet Anton doesn’t know where I am.
The smaller guy hands me a lighter. I smoke the whole cigarette in silence watching the birch. The smaller guy nudges me. Hey, don’t stare into the void for too long, it makes your eyes go funny. We laugh. He gestures for me to follow him into the next room. I walk over to a space that looks like the cafeteria from my primary school. He takes a remote from the side and turns on the TV. He searches through the channels, presumably trying to find one in English. He finds Scooby Doo. It doesn’t feel long ago that I was watching this as a kid. Oh wow, I think I’m going to be sick. I watch the end of the episode and another starts immediately after.
The shorter man has gone. An old man walks in. Tko ste vi? Sorry I don’t speak Croatian. Aaaah English. Where are you from? Err, the closest you might know is Manchester. Aaaah Manchester, Manchester. I had a red rover. I had a red rover. He lifts his arms with each sentence, staring blankly, almost through me. He steps out of the room and closes both of the double doors. I look at the tables and mostly empty bookcases, not really taking any of them in. The fuck did I just witness? A man of about forty in a dressing gown walks in. Oo, you the English guy? Yes. Aaaah. He sits on one of the tables. I have to say, you’ve got a very nice nose. He strokes his own nose, laughs and walks out. Ah yes… I hadn’t thought of that. Anyone could be in here. Where are those two guys? I walk out into the hallway. There are the chairs but they’re gone. I look at the thin birch over the rocks bending in the wind. Maybe I can just get back in bed. I walk to the room and both of the beds have been moved.
I walk back into the tv room. The sun comes up. Crowds of people come into the room. The shorter guy sits down next to me. Good show? We laugh. I appreciated it. He pulls out his packet of tobacco. You roll? I nod. I take out a filtertip from my pocket. That's the only thing here. They must have taken my passport for safe keeping. I take a paper and a pinch of tobacco from him and roll a straight cigarette. A few of the other people whisper and point at it. They want you to do that for them. Oh, right. I start to roll for everyone. Light my cig and puff it from the side of my mouth as I roll.
A nurse walks in. Oh, hey, excuse me. Do you know where my stuff is? Check your pockets, that's all you came in with. Ah okay, right. May I leave? You will need to have the doctor come sign you off and we have been told that the police have been called but I don’t know why. My head feels buoyant in a gentle wave. I feel sick again. My breaths shorten and my heart starts to hit against my chest. I’m going to jail? The nurse nods and pats me on the shoulder. The doctor won’t be long. Why not get a shower? That sounds like a good idea. I walk down the hall to a tiled room. There are no curtains and I don’t have a towel. No, I’ll just wash myself a bit in the sink. I splash water over myself. The sandy mud on my legs now stained them a deep brown. This is hopeless. I dry my hands and walk into another room. There are free beds here. I get in the bed closest to the door. I’m woken up by the nurse. You’re in someone’s bed and you’ve made it dirty, why not have a shower? I’m sorry. Yes, I’ll go have one. I walk to the tv room and they are serving soup, a grey liquid and bread. I sit down and have a bowl placed in front of me. I take a spoonful. Mushroom. Now that's not bad. I dip the bread in the soup and crunch through the crust.
The people start to take their bowls and put them on a trolley of trays. Eventually it's just me and a young guy with a Napoleon hat. He looks at me. I point to the hat. Is that yours? No it used to belong to a friend, he says with a grin. He takes it off and puts it on the table in front of him. He pulls out one of the white feathers and hands it to me. Thank you. I twirl it around with my fingers. No. Not like that. He takes it back off me. Two women in white coats walk in smoking coned rollups. Are you Simon? I nod eagerly. What is your surname? Swan. Alright… you were refusing to give that yesterday saying you thought we were going to steal your identity. Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t remember that. Well okay, you can go now. Really? Yes. I start to cry. Wait, why were the police called? They were going to give you a lift back to your apartment but unfortunately they cannot do that. Oh that's fine… please thank them for the thought. We have called you a taxi. Just please come into the next room while we get you to sign some forms. I go into the next room. A nurse hands me a teeshirt. Thank you so much. My stomach turns. Water at the bottom of my belly wants to come up. But they might not let me out if I throw up. I keep it down for form after form. No, it's coming up. Where can I be sick? The nurse points and shouts. In the shower! I run to the red tiled room and throw up down the showerhole.
Zagreb
The taxi brings me to the apartment. Anton stands out the front smoking. He nearly bursts seeing me. What happened to you?! I woke up strapped to a bed in a mental institute. What how? I don’t know. What did we do? You just wandered off, like you always do! I have been here all night practicing telling your mum that you have died. I look at my feet. I’m sorry. Come on, let's get you upstairs. A friend called. We are going to visit him in Zagreb, he thinks he has a place for us up there. He said it gets up to the same prices as renting in London in the summer along the coast. The capital is cheaper.
I walk upstairs and take a shower. Layers of weight fall off me. We pack up our things, post the key through the door and drive up the mountains in Split towards the top of the country. We enter through a tunnel and see a white light at the end. Six feet of snow hangs over us as we leave the tunnel. Anton takes off his sunglasses. How is this possible? I didn’t know we went up that far. Flat horizons are bumped by hills and mountains that look too pointy to be real. The light for the low fuel starts to flash. I point at our shorts. Anton puts his hand on the back of his head. I don’t even have any trousers. I belly laugh.
We pull into the next petrol station I run into the shop. Three customers are pointing and laughing at him still towering over the car half bent over, shivering in his bright red shorts. I join them until I get to the front of the queue. Pump one and a packet of tobacco. We drive out of the snow into golds and emeralds. The spotlights of sun from the clouds glide across the mountains turning into farmland. Land bridges with small trees growing on them pass overhead. We pass a warning sign for crossing bears and wolves. I’ve never seen one in the wild. I keep my eye on the treeline for the entire way. The sun goes down behind us.
Blocks of flats bake grids of lights either side of us. We’re not far. Anton chucks me his phone. Call Marko. It should be the last call I made. It rings twice. Hey Anton. Anton waves his hand to me. Put it on the loudspeaker. I press the button with a megaphone on it. Hey Marko? Yeah man, I’m outside on the balcony. Is that you pulling up? Yeah I think so. Okay, I’ll be right down. We park beside a postbox and a children's playframe. The houses remind me of Majorca. A young guy of about twenty walks towards us. Hey man, great to see you. Still making tracks? Most days but this accomodation this is stressing me out now. Ah there are plenty of places around here. For your budget I could get you where the movie stars are.
We walk up the stairs and go into his apartment. It looks like a student gaff. You guys want a beer? Sure. Thank you. He hands us both a can. We can go out tomorrow to a few viewings I have set up. Sleep on the couches here. We can find you a decent short term rental if it looks like it will take too long. Anton looks like he wants to laugh but stops himself. Tell Simon about the story of the welcome mat your dad told you. Hah! Ah, from the war, you know, everyone around the village where I grew up is still armed. We had a joyrider come. Pulling U-turns, driving over gardens. Our neighbour saw out of that window, he got a bazooka from the loft and a mat from the porch. He stuffed an Adidas hoodie where the rocket should be. Throwing the welcome mat there on the road, he sat on it and adjusted the sights, aiming at the driver. The driver saw and reversed. Pulling one last J-turn, he sped away, and we didn’t see him again. Like you all say, less said, soonest mended. We all laugh. Marko clears his throat. The viewings are in the evening. Tomorrow I will take you to Plitvice. Anton wriggles a bit in his chair.
Plitvice
We drive halfway back down the country. The houses look like ski chalets from Austria. The grass grows in fluffy mounds. Waterfalls pop up from everywhere, surrounding the cottages like white and blue sheets hung up to dry. We park up by a steep ledge. We won’t have to pay here. There's a footpath down there. We decend a set of stone steps. The waterfalls trickle over our faces. Oranges and emeralds shine. The plants and air glitter above us. We reach the streams. Marko points into the clear water. A small black fish leviates over the travertine sand.